


Vignettes

by tunacafe



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sutter Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunacafe/pseuds/tunacafe
Summary: A little peek into Sam and Charlie's worlds, apart and together. Written for Sutter week 2020.
Relationships: Charlie Cutter/Samuel Drake
Kudos: 2





	Vignettes

He ought to feel bad about what he did.

Lord knows Dennis Schumacher didn’t deserve it.

But Sam felt, somehow, far away, that he was very, very angry and so beating the shit out of a kid twenty pounds lighter than him felt alright for the moment.

He hadn’t even gone back to class after lunch, he’d just taken his score of five dollars and left out the front doors. Mrs Sheridan -- the guidance counselor -- had said he could take a half-day whenever he wanted, and he _wanted_ to skip out on the aftermath of Dennis’ inevitable snitching.

He sat outside the elementary school, rereading his beat up copy of _A Thousand Leagues Under the Sea._ The bell rang at three and he tucked his book away to look for Nathan.

His little brother galloped across the schoolyard, looking like a pack horse swallowed up by his lumbering book bag. 

“You’re here so early!”

Sam took his hand, “Yeah, I got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

He pulled the fiver from his jean pocket. 

_"Woah!"_

Sam held it up above Nathan’s head as the boy tried to jump and grab for it, “Hey-- _Watch it!_ This is for dinner.”

Nathan halted their little game of monkey.

“You don’t think Dad will be back tonight?”

“I don’t know _when_ he’s coming back, Nathan.”

He frowned in a way that made his big blue eyes look like they were about to pop out of his head.

It made Sam feel guilty. He tugged his hand to get them started walking, and he looked at his brother as they made their way back towards the motel, “Dad didn’t leave because of you, okay? Kids cry all the time, you don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Nathan didn't answer, but he looked like he was going to start crying again. He sniffled and kept the tears from rolling down. 

“Look -- his stuff is still at the motel, okay? He probably just… went to stay with a friend or maybe he's sleeping at his office again. He’ll come back,” Sam squeezed his hand, “He has to.”

"I didn't mean to cry."

"I know you didn't."

Their dad had been gone for two nights now.

It was stupid and it definitely wasn't Nathan's fault. Sam was just up late watching TV and their dad had been on the phone in the lobby and he came back and said, go to sleep, and Sam said no, and then there was arguing and then Nathan was crying and then they were alone.

The morning after, they got by on complimentary muffins, but the motel cleared out the breakfast nook after 10 a.m. so dinner was two cans of Chef Boyardee stolen from the gas station round back.

This morning, the receptionist lady wouldn’t let Sam take more than two muffins and as for dinner --? It was easier to steal money than to steal cans. 

“Can we have McDonald’s?” Nathan asked, suddenly looking more chipper.

“Yeah, Nate, we can have McDonald’s.”

* * *

“Mum, you promised I could go over to Vernon’s tonight.”

“And you can -- but you _finish_ what you _start_ first.”

“But I _made_ the stuffing -- can’t you put it in the dough while you’re sitting down?”

“Charlie.”

“It’s just, we got a book report to do and Vernon’s got half the notes so I _can’t_ finish it at home and--,”

“And you’re not going to finish it at all until you finish the _sambousek._ Come -- sit.”

Charlie groaned and pulled up a chair to the dining table where his Mum sat, fanning herself uncomfortably, her belly swollen like a gigantic bowling ball. She was due any day now, and for the past few weeks her feet and knees were so swollen she could hardly stand for half the day. Secretly, Charlie imagined her just popping like a balloon -- he’d make his getaway out the window and onto the dumpster and he’d ride his bike across town, making it just in time for the Arsenal match. And also their book report.

His Dad was busy running the store downstairs, but at least there was a telly on the counter so _he_ could watch the match. Charlie grabbed one of the dough circles his Mum had been preparing on the table as he’d fried the stuffing.

His Dad was always making excuses not to help in the kitchen, so it’d been _Charlie this,_ _Charlie that,_ every day for a month under his mother’s scrutinizing gaze. Chop the parsley _smaller_ , knead the bread for _longer_ , wash the vegetables even though you’re just going to peel them anyway.

“Ah, look at that -- it’s even more perfect than mine, habibi.”

His Mum beamed at him from across the table, admiring the little triangle he’d just folded. 

Maybe it did give him a little sense of pride, even if he’d rather be watching football.

“And when you finish, you take some to your friend, alright?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
